


I talk and talk about love but it's above the clouds

by Zykaben



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's okay though because Tim and Sasha help him feel better, Martin thinks pretty badly of himself, Season/Series 01, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24129700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben
Summary: Martin was a hard person to love. He knew that,hadknown that for a long while. That didn't mean it still didn't hurt when he remembered it.It's much harder for him to remember or care about that when he goes to get drinks with Tim and Sasha, though.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, if you squint
Comments: 23
Kudos: 168





	I talk and talk about love but it's above the clouds

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in a doc that was titled "sad martin hours" for the longest time until I decided to actually write the whole thing. 
> 
> As stated in the tags, this fic delves into how Martin feels and thinks about himself and, while this ends happily, a lot of the hurt in frontloaded and Martin thinks some pretty terrible things about himself.
> 
> Huge thank you to [Ostentenacity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostentenacity/) for betaing this!
> 
> Thank you for reading.

Martin was a hard person to love.

It wasn’t a new revelation, not by any means. It always settled into Martin’s chest like it was coming home after a long vacation, tearing at his heart as it made itself comfortable.

He didn’t think that he was a bad person or anything, of course. Sometimes he even imagined himself to be a _good_ person, someone who cared for others and tended to their needs without being selfish. It was just that Martin was well aware of his flaws and how they made him undesirable. He knew that he was too needy, too insecure, too clingy, too big, too sensitive, too excitable, too soft. Knew that he wasn’t handsome enough, not smart enough, not strong enough, not quick enough, not… _enough_.

He was too much of things that no one wanted to put up with, and too little of things that they _did_ want.

And by god, it _hurt_. It always did, this old, familiar ache that was buried in his very bones. It wasn’t fine, but Martin reminded himself that he had made his peace with it long ago.

Not everyone was made to be easy to love.

But it wasn’t all bad all the time. No, just because he was a challenge to love didn’t mean that everyone hated him. Some people even seemed to care about him—at least a little bit, sometimes—and Martin wasn’t selfish enough to ask more of them. So what if he wasn’t a—wasn’t a priority in anyone’s life, wasn’t anyone’s first choice? Just because he wasn’t the person anyone cared most about didn’t mean that _no one_ cared. They just… always cared for him a little less than someone else.

It was fine. Even when he choked down tears and useless pleas for someone to _stay_ , he was fine. He had to be. He didn’t bring anything but _problems_ to the table, if he started making a nuisance of himself then not even the few people who gave a half a damn about him would stick around and he’d be all alone and—

And now he was spiraling. Which was just _great_.

Christ, it wasn’t even for any good reason, either. He’d just overheard Tim inviting Sasha out for drinks at the pub after work in order to celebrate surviving their first month as archival assistants. Martin had perked up at that, feeling his heart pound at the idea of going out for drinks with the two of them. He was nervous, obviously, but even more than that he was _excited_. It would be so nice to talk outside of work, somewhere more casual where they could just hang out and try to have a fun time. Maybe start sowing the first few tentative seeds of friendship that Martin so desperately wanted to realize.

It would have been perfect, save for the fact that Martin had yet to be invited and it was nearing six.

The lack of an invitation was either purposeful or Tim had forgotten to tell him. Martin wasn’t sure which was worse.

He hunched his shoulders forward as he heard Tim let out a small “ _whoop!_ ”, watched as Tim all but jumped out of his chair once he’d logged off of his computer. Looked away and stared intently at his computer screen as Tim sauntered over to Sasha. Tried to block out their voices as they spoke. Choked back the burning swell of tears that was trying to claw its way up his throat. 

They’d leave and Martin would be left in the archives, alone save for Jon who _hated_ him, Martin knew that he did—he’d heard the tapes, had seen the way that Jon looked at him, knew that Jon saw him for what he really was, a hopeless liar who didn’t deserve the air he breathed and he was _right_ but Martin couldn’t—

Martin closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, counting up to seven as he shakily inhaled, held it, and then discreetly exhaling when his lungs began to ache in protest.

God, he was so _pathetic_ , crying over, what, not being invited to something? He should have gotten over himself back in primary school. People didn’t want someone like Martin to hang around them, not when they had better options. And they always seemed to have better options.

Always.

Martin swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat, pried his eyes open to stare blankly at his computer monitor. He was following up a statement, looking up the names mentioned and trying to find contact information or anything about them that was at all relevant. He was checking Google and job sites and he was _not_ going to let himself break down in the office, not while he was in public. Right now he would _work_ and push this from his mind and then when he got home he would shatter, curl up and sob and clutch at his chest and go over the list of what was wrong with himself and wonder how to fix something that had never worked in the first place and—

Martin practically jumped out of his skin when he felt something suddenly and firmly clap onto his shoulder.

“Woah, sorry! Didn’t realize that would spook you so bad.”

Tim. That was Tim’s voice. Hadn’t he and Sasha already left?

Martin took in another breath, this one fast and shallow, and turned to face them. Tim was standing next to him, hands held up in a loose parody of surrender and a sheepish grin pulling at his lips, his eyes bright and crinkling at the corners. Martin let his gaze linger on his face, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair was stylishly tousled, how at ease he was. Something ugly surged up in Martin, hissing cruel reminders that he would _never_ be like that, never be as effortlessly likable as someone like Tim.

Martin shoved those voices down, pushing them to the far corners of his mind. They wouldn’t help him now, not while Tim seemed to be waiting for something from him. Still, Martin felt his insides squirm when he looked at Tim so Martin glanced past him, his gaze landing on Sasha. She was a few feet behind Tim, now wearing her coat and holding her bag by her side. Her expression was neutral and she held herself with quiet assurity, but when Martin met her eyes she graced him with a quick smile. It wasn’t as grand or as wide as Tim’s, but it was real and kind, curling up at the corners. It felt like the kind of smile someone shared right after they had told a secret, something just between the two of them. Like Martin was being let in on something. Like he was being included.

… And now he was reading _way_ too much into what amounted to his co-worker smiling politely at him for one second because she wasn’t a complete arse. Fantastic, really doing a great job at not being pathetic, Blackwood, keep it up.

Martin looked back at Tim, watched as Tim lowered his hands to his sides. He still seemed to be waiting for Martin to respond.

Martin cleared his throat. “N-no, you’re fine. I just, uh, you know, zoned out for a bit. W-wasn’t really paying attention, I guess. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Tim said, all cheer and camaraderie. “Same thing happens to me! This one time, Sasha snuck up right behind me, dead silent, and said my name while I was looking over a file. I damn near fell out of my chair with how hard I jolted.”

“I didn’t ‘sneak up’ on you,” Sasha corrected easily. She didn’t roll her eyes as she spoke, but the fact that she clearly wanted to was audible in her tone. “I walked over to your desk and you were too busy going over files and muttering to yourself to notice me until I said your name.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it,” Tim countered with a smile. “I can’t believe you’d say something so untrue about me to Martin.”

“Um,” Martin tried, and then froze up when Tim and Sasha turned their attention back onto him. He collected himself as best he could before continuing, “Y-you two are heading out, right? Was there something you needed before you left? I don’t know how much longer I’m going to stay, but I’d be happy to get some small stuff done for either of you.”

Because that’s why they’d stopped to talk to him, right? One of the few good traits that Martin possessed was his willingness to help others, to offer his aid in carrying part of the load. It was easy—he offered to do something for someone and they smiled and thanked him, liked him a bit more than they had before, maybe even thought that Martin was dependable and kind. It wasn’t the same as having someone care about him, but it was better than nothing and Martin had long since learned that he couldn’t afford to be greedy, not if he ever wanted to be anywhere near happy with his lot in life.

And, well, this wasn’t bad. Tim and Sasha were being kind about talking to him and would continue to be kind when they asked him for help. Not to mention that they must have put enough stock in Martin’s skills and reliability to even be asking him in the first place. Wasn’t that great? Two of his three co-workers in the archives thought that he might be approaching something like competence with his work. 

It could be worse. It could definitely be _way_ worse.

“Oh.” Tim blinked, grin falling as his eyes widened and eyebrows rose up. Martin didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so surprised before. “Wow. That’s really nice of you.”

Martin smiled back at him, shy and pleased in a way that had pain lancing through him. He was good at being nice, took pride in it. It didn’t matter that people didn’t care enough about it for it to be anything more than a thing of note. Maybe that's what his epitaph would read on his gravestone: Herein lies Martin Blackwood, he was nice.

Being nice wasn’t enough to be worth caring about, but it was _enough_. It had to be. It was all Martin could really hope for.

Oh, Tim was talking again.

“—not _quite_ what I was going for,” Tim was saying when Martin tuned back in. “Me and Sasha were wondering if you’d want to grab drinks with us. We’re heading out now and it doesn’t sound like you have any plans for the night, so…?” 

“O-oh,” was all that Martin could manage. “I-I, ah, I mean—I was. Um.”

That—that wasn’t what Martin had been expecting. What had—why was Tim asking _now_? Had he and Sasha looked over and seen just how close to breaking he was? Taken pity on their stupid, unlikable colleague, reaching out to him out of a sense of pity?

Martin wasn’t quite sure what pity looked like on Tim or Sasha, but he couldn’t immediately make it out in either of their expressions. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there, that they weren’t hiding it under painted smiles and artificially relaxed demeanors.

Did it really matter, though? If they were hiding it or not? Would that have any bearing on Martin’s answer?

… No. No, it wouldn’t. Christ, he was pathetic, but Martin couldn’t bring himself to turn this down an invitation that had been extended solely out of pity. It wasn’t being cared about or being liked, but it also wasn’t being alone.

Martin so badly didn’t want to be alone, even at the cost of his dignity, even at the cost of being unwanted.

“Ah, y-yeah!” Martin finally stammered out. “I’d—that would be—yeah, that sounds great. I don’t, uh, have any plans. None at all, actually, hah. S-so I’d love to go out for drinks!”

God, could he not just give a normal response? Some cold, cruel part of him was playing his response on loop. It pointed out every part that Martin had stumbled over his word, rebuked him for just how disgustingly desperate he had sounded, mocked him for oversharing that he had no plans, had no _one_.

Martin forced himself to _stop_ , to be _present_ for the person standing in front of him. He was hyper-aware of his body, what expression was on his face—neutral, it was a neutral expression because Martin knew better than to let his facade crack right in front of someone else. He took in Tim’s face, saw that it was open and friendly and held no trace of suspicion, no hint that he had any clue about the thoughts ripping into Martin.

“Great!” Tim chirped, grin back and brighter than ever. “We’re going to Spoons which, I know, it’s not exactly _fancy_ ”—Tim pointedly tossed the word over his shoulder at Sasha who simply rolled her eyes—“but it’s close and there’s alcohol and really, what else could you possibly ask for?”

“Spoons is good,” Martin rushed to reassure him. He didn’t mention that he was just glad to be included, that he preferred Spoons because it meant he wouldn’t spend a ridiculous amount of money on drinks. “Yeah, Spoons is—it’s great. Let me just—I need to, ah, log off? And make sure everything is in order for tomorrow.”

“You’re coming in on Saturday?” Tim asked, voice taking on a lilting, song-like quality.

Right. Weekends. What came after Friday. God, he must look like such an _idiot_.

“Oh lay off, Tim,” Sasha said, light and airy. “Like you haven’t done the same thing dozens of times.”

“Ah, Martin knows I’m just teasing. Don’t you, Marto?”

Martin’s initial reaction was to protest being called _Marto_ —because, really, what kind of nickname was that?—but it was quickly overtaken by realization that he’d been given a _nickname_ and the subsequent surge of warmth and euphoria that swelled up in him. He’d never had someone call him by a nickname, not that he could remember. His name had never seemed suited for them and Martin could never imagine anyone _wanting_ to give him one. Sure, “Marto” wasn’t exactly ideal, but what it meant was so _much_ that Martin didn’t dare speak up about it.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Martin replied, his tongue stiff and over-large as he spoke. He managed not to trip over his words this time, though. Part of him wanted to count that as a victory and then immediately felt stupid for doing so. “I mean, it was obvious.” 

And it had been. Tim had been blatant about it, painfully so, yet it had done nothing to take away the sting of it. Martin was just being overly-sensitive, getting hurt and flustered by things that were jovial and in jest. Typical, really.

“Let me just… wrap up and I’ll be good to go?” Martin hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, hadn’t wanted to let his uncertainty and insecurity bleed through so plainly.

Tim and Sasha didn’t seem to notice or, if they had, didn’t seem to care.

“Take your time,” Sasha said. “We have all night.”

“Well, not _all_ night,” Tim drawled out. “I’d like to actually leave this dingy basement at a reasonable hour. If Jon clears out before us then I will never forgive myself.”

Martin listened to the two of them banter back and forth with half an ear, concentrating on moving as quickly as he could. He was _not_ going to hold Tim and Sasha up any longer than he absolutely needed to. He refused to be a bother after they’d given him this—this _gift_.

Every movement seemed to take an eternity, from putting away his pens to sorting out documents to straightening out his notes. When everything was more or less in place, albeit more haphazard than Martin would have liked, he deemed himself finished. He checked to make sure he’d successfully logged off of his computer and patted at his pockets until he felt the outline of his phone and wallet through the fabric of his jeans.

Martin took in one final deep breath, letting it out slowly as he turned back towards Tim and Sasha. They were chatting amiably, Tim all lively smiles and Sasha’s face settling somewhere between and fond and exasperated. They seemed comfortable. Balanced. Martin felt guilt flash in him, hot and sharp, at the thought of throwing them off, injecting himself into their easy dynamic. He stamped it down as best as he could, but it lingered like a stain.

Should he go over? He was done now but he didn’t want to interrupt whatever they were talking about. But they were staying behind for _him_ so he really ought to let them know—

The problem solved itself when Sasha glanced over at him and saw him awkwardly standing there. She gave him another brief smile that had Tim looking over, too.

“Are you ready to go?” Sasha asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin said, casual and all too honest at once.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Tim was already moving towards the exit. “Let’s go!”

Martin only paused for the space of a heartbeat before he followed along behind Sasha. His nerves were making his stomach twist itself into knots, but the foolish, persistent spark of hope that he could never quite extinguish had caught. He’d give this his best shot. Who knew, maybe he’d end up having a great time and forgetting about everything that was so glaringly wrong with him for a moment or two.

And if not? Well, he could always go back to his original plans for the night.

 _I can do this. I can_ do _this._

Martin didn’t believe a single word of it.

* * *

Martin had never really done the whole grabbing ‘drinks after work’ thing before, not really. He hadn’t gotten close enough to anyone in the library to get invited and, honestly, Martin had been too much of a nervous wreck during his first year there for anyone to rethink their stance on asking him to tag along.

This was all to say that once they actually got to Spoons, Martin was terrified of horribly bungling the whole thing up.

The three of them quickly found themselves sitting around a small, round table, their legs knocking against each other as they settled. Martin bit his tongue, fumbling apologies threatening to pour out of his mouth each time he made contact with Tim or Sasha. Why couldn’t he just take it in stride? Be at all normal about this?

No, he could do this. He would have a pleasant time with his colleagues. Take it one step at a time.

“Christ, I never thought today would end,” Tim groaned once they’d gotten comfortable. “I swear, half an hour would pass and then I’d look at the clock and it would have only gone up by five minutes.”

“Poor thing,” Sasha said. “Did you at least manage to find anything interesting today? Any statements you were following up that jumped out at you?”

“Oh god, you have no idea,” Tim said in a rush, his eyes lighting up and leaning forward onto the table. One of its supports must have been too short, because the whole thing wobbled when he did. “Proper mad, this one. I can’t believe anyone even let him into the building, he’s a right idiot.”

Sasha raised a single brow. “Do go on.”

“‘Statement of Jack Douglass,’” Tim started, voice pitching low and disgustingly posh. Martin choked on the air he was breathing and began to cough.

“Martin?”

“Christ, are you alright?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Martin waved them off, cheeks blazing red as he forced himself to _stop._ “I just, um. The impression. I wasn’t expecting it and it—it got me.”

Tim’s grin was a blinding thing and Sasha’s hand flew to cover her mouth, but Martin could see the crinkling of her eyes as she tried to hide her own smile.

“Finally, _someone_ here who appreciates my skill,” Tim drawled out with a pointed look at Sasha. Martin pressed his lips together to fight off a smile of his own at Tim’s facetiously smug tone. “Now, where was I? Right, a _hem._ ‘Statement of Jack Douglass, regarding the truths concerning the moon and its alleged existence.’”

“Hold on now, _alleged_ existence?” Sasha asked around a smile. “You mean to say—”

“Oh, I certainly do. This man doesn’t believe in the _moon._ ”

“Wh—but _how_?” Martin blurted. “I-it’s the _moon._ It’s right there in the sky! How can someone just think it’s not real?”

Tim grinned like a madman and proceeded to detail exactly how someone could go about thinking just that. The statement giver’s theory involved an absurd mix of confidential holographic technology, government-sponsored propaganda, and far more conspiracies than Martin could keep straight in his head. 

Martin was sure that reading the thing would have gotten a chuckle or two out of him based on the premise alone, but as Tim wove his tale Martin found himself nearly doubled over in his seat, laughing so hard that he could hardly breathe and clutching at his aching stomach. Sasha wasn’t doing much better, face buried into her hands and shoulders shaking as she let out muffled laughter. Tim was just so _vibrant_ ; eyes alight, gesturing wildly with his hands, talking with such a painful degree of seriousness that wrapped back around to being hilariously silly. He only paused to gulp down some of his beer, their drinks and food having arrived while Tim was talking.

It was all just so… so _fun._ Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so light-hearted and, and _happy._ And maybe that was a miserable thought, a hurtful realization, but Martin was too busy trying to breathe to get all melancholy over it right now.

“—And so, as you can _clearly_ see, this all leads to the conclusion that not only was the moon landing faked, but Big Government continues to profit off of the masses by tricking us into believing that the moon exists, stealing money right out of the pockets of poor, defense millionaires who waste it all on space travel and—”

“Tim I can’t _breathe_ ,” Sasha wheezed out in a rush. “Oh my god, I can’t, I just _can’t_ —”

Tim gasped, hand flying to his heart and sounding absolutely scandalized. The action set Martin off again and he could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Sasha! I am telling you how everyone is living a lie propagated by our evil overlords who insist that the moon is real! Show some respect.”

Martin desperately tried to fill his lungs. “My stomach, it hurts, I—”

That was all Martin could get out before he was back to giggling uncontrollably.

“Et tu, Martin? This is a _very_ serious matter and here you two are, just—just _guffawing._ For shame, the both of you.”

“Tim, please, _stop_ ,” Sasha begged, voice uneven with laughter. “You’re going to kill us, _please._ ”

Tim huffed out a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes so obviously that it was obscene. “Fine, fine, we’ll have it your way then. Spoilsport.”

Martin valiantly attempted to get ahold of himself, trying to temper the dizzying giddiness in him that threatened to bubble over. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, keeping his other arm pressed against his sore stomach. Even with his laughter dying down, Martin still couldn’t stop the little chuckles and giggles that he let out. His body almost _hurt_ with each one that escaped, but it was a kind of hurt that made Martin feel good and satisfied and _real._

Sasha was quicker to recover than Martin was. She was still grinning widely. “Thank _god,_ I thought that I might actually die from that.”

“Pft, could you imagine the papers if I’d managed that?” Tim asked. “‘London Woman Killed in Spoons by Hilarious, Dashing Co-worker Who Made Her Laugh Too Hard.’ I’d get us on the front page.”

“ _You_ would get on the front page. I’d be _dead._ ”

“And I’d be _famous._ ”

“I don’t think a double homicide is something that you want to be famous for,” Martin mumbled under his breath. Or, he thought he had. He’d always had trouble modulating his volume but he’d done his best to get better at it. Apparently that wasn’t the case at the moment because both Tim and Sasha turned to look at him as he spoke.

Martin felt a hot wave of shame flash in his stomach, burning away the pleasant ache left from laughing. Why had he said that? He’d never been a comedian, had never been funny like Tim was, and now—

Tim let out a loud bark of laughter. Martin stopped himself from flinching at the sudden sound, but it was a near thing. “Fuck, I think you’re right. Jon would fire me on the spot as soon as he heard the news.”

“And good luck getting a new job,” Sasha added as she snagged a chip off of Tim’s plate. “A double homicide on your record won’t look good.”

“Excuse me, it would be manslaughter at worst.”

Martin’s brow furrowed at that. “Isn’t manslaughter homicide?”

“Is it?” Tim asked. “I always thought that homicide was murder.”

“O-oh, I mean—” Martin could feel his body trying to make itself smaller. He hadn’t even thought about it, had just asked because he could vaguely remember that—but no, Martin had been wrong and had tried to correct Tim about something that he didn’t need to be corrected for. Tim had handled it graciously, still friendly and beaming. But now Martin looked like an idiot and a prick and his already slim chances of ever being invited out again were shrinking.

“Nah, I think Martin’s right,” Sasha said easily. “Manslaughter and murder are both homicide.”

“R-really?” Martin asked.

“I can Google it,” Sasha offered, “but I’m pretty sure I remember manslaughter falling under homicide. At least for most legal stuff.”

“Well, you learn something new every day,” Tim chirped. “So I have a double homicide on my record, I’ve lost my job, and two of my friends are dead. I don’t think that things are looking good for me.”

Sasha snorted into her beer and Tim immediately started teasing her over it while she denied that she’d even made a sound. Martin couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, though. He was holding onto his drink like it was the only thing stopping him from floating away, his knuckles going white.

It was silly, just a turn of phrase that was part of a silly joke. But Tim had said that Martin was his friend. Or, he’d implied it. And Sasha hadn’t protested it, had laughed.

Martin was reading into it far too much, he knew that he was. It didn’t mean anything.

God, he really wanted it to mean something.

“—Okay, you know what? Martin—”

Martin quickly straightened up out of his slouch as he pulled his attention back to reality at the sound of Tim saying his name. “Um, yes?”

Tim shifted towards him and Martin could feel himself tense up. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, Tim wouldn’t do whatever it was that Martin was bracing himself for, Tim was nice and they were in a Spoons and—

And Tim was throwing an arm around Martin’s shoulders, grinning like Martin had hung the moon, fake as it may have been. Martin could feel its weight settle over him, warm and solid. He was too surprised to do much of anything as Tim pulled him into a loose, one-armed hug.

“Now, Marto,” Tim was saying. He was warm where Martin’s left side pressed against him. “Maybe you can settle this for us as our impartial third party.”

“Um,” Martin said. He glanced at Sasha. She was smiling again. “Okay?”

“Did our dear friend and colleague Sasha James not snort just now?”

Oh god, they were asking him to pick a side. They wanted him to choose which one of them was right. That was—it shouldn’t have been a lot of pressure but it _was._ Tim and Sasha were friends and Martin was the newcomer and if he didn’t do this right—

 _Stop,_ Martin told himself. _Breathe._

Tim and Sasha were looking at him expectantly. Tim was still holding Martin against him.

Martin swallowed down his nerves. “I-I think she did?”

It came out far more hesitant and unsure than Martin would have liked it to have, but that didn’t seem to matter. Tim let go of Martin to point at Sasha and declare his victory with a decisive “ _ha!_ ”

Sasha put on an air of disinterest, expression utterly deadpan as she took a sip of her beer. She set her glass down and turned to look at Martin, something in her face softening as she did. “It’s so nice to get drinks together after work, isn’t it Martin? Just the two of us and no other pests.”

“Oi! I am _right here_!”

“Did you hear something?” Sasha asked, her lips pulling up into a mischievous smile. She gave Martin a wink.

Martin didn’t bother to fight down his own answering smile. “Um, no. Can’t say I did.”

“Traitors, the both of you. I am _heartbroken._ ”

Sasha glanced at Tim. “Oh, suck it up.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to recover from this,” Tim solemnly confessed. His gloomy veneer was quickly replaced by a brilliant smile as Martin chuckled at his antics.

And that was how it went for the rest of the evening, just the three of them chatting and joking and teasing over cheap alcohol and decent food. It was… nice. It was _really_ nice. There were times when Martin still felt weird, like he was an imposter wearing an ill-fitting suit, not fitting in quite right, not really belonging. But then Tim would say something that made him laugh, or Sasha would make a clever remark, and the feeling would fade. And then both of them would _smile_ at Martin like they were glad to have him, like they _wanted_ him to be there. It made Martin’s face flush, his cheeks aching from how hard he smiled back.

So, yeah. It was good. It was probably one of the best nights that Martin had had in a long time.

Wonderful as it was, though, all good things eventually had to come to an end. The three of them paid for their orders and made their way outside into the chill air. Martin had managed to drink enough to give himself a pleasant buzz, something just barely there at the base of his skull that kept him marginally more relaxed than normal. He would have chalked the feeling up to being so much happier than usual if not for the fact that he was the slightest bit light-headed. 

“We should make this a regular thing,” Tim declared. “I had too much fun to not do that again.”

“I’m up for that,” Sasha said. “Martin?”

“Hm?”

“Would you want to do this again next week?”

Martin blinked at Sasha slowly, mind just the faintest bit foggy. “Oh. Y-yeah, of course! If, ah, if you’ll have me.”

“You bet your ass we will!” Tim practically yelled. Sasha swatted lightly at his shoulder and Martin found himself smiling sillily at them all over again.

Was this what having friends was like? It had been such a long time since Martin had one that he couldn’t say for certain. He was pretty sure it was, though. And, even if it wasn’t, Martin didn’t think he minded whatever this new thing was.

Sasha ended up hailing a cab back to hers, Tim pulling her into a hug before she got in and telling her to text them that she’d gotten home alright. Martin gave her a cheery little wave and a smile, faltering when Sasha rolled her eyes. Any negative feeling that might have sprung up to the surface was quickly banished by Sasha stepping forward and giving Martin a hug. He only hesitated a moment before he wrapped his arms around her and hugged back. She was soft and warm and smelled like old books. Martin found himself wanting to hug her again as soon as she pulled away.

Sasha gave them a little mock salute. “I’ll see you on Monday, boys.”

Tim returned the gesture. “Yes ma’am! See you then.”

“Bye Sasha,” Martin added. “It was—this was really nice.”

Sasha gave Martin another smile, this one similar to those before it but different, somehow. Martin couldn’t pinpoint it, could hardly describe it. It was just _more._ “Goodnight Martin.”

Sasha got into the cab, closing the door and waving calmly at them. Tim started frantically waving both of his arms as hard as he could, startling a rush of giggles out of Martin. He could see Sasha laugh through the tinted window as the cab pulled away from the curb and began to drive down the street, its taillights burning red into the evening light. 

Tim was still waving like his life depended on it, arms flailing wildly towards the back window of the cab. In a burst of something—confidence? Joy? Martin couldn’t quite tell—Martin joined him, swinging his arms above his head with as much force as he could muster. He heard Tim start laughing next to him and it only spurred Martin to try waving even harder. Martin liked Tim’s laugh a lot, like how it was hearty and sunny and sincere. He was sure that Tim would make a fortune if he found some way to bottle and sell the sound, ludicrous as the thought of it was.

Finally, the cab turned a corner and was out of sight. Martin let his arms slow to a stop before dropping them and letting them hang by his sides. They ached a bit, a testament to just how vigorously he’d been waving. The dull pain was more than worth it.

Martin jumped a bit when he felt Tim sling an arm around his shoulders, but the alcohol had addled his brain just enough to keep him from flinching away. He turned to look at Tim, took in the red that stained his cheeks, the elated grin on his face that bordered on manic, the way his eyes danced in the low light. Martin’s breath caught in his throat.

“You know, I was being dead serious,” Tim said. His arm was still around Martin and he was leaning a good amount of weight on it. Martin didn’t mind it.

“Oh? About not believing in the moon? Or was it something about the double homicide?” Martin quipped.

Tim laughed again and Martin could feel it shake through him. “God, you’re such a, a—you’re _snarky_.”

“I can be, yeah.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Tim muttered with a shake of his head, close enough that Martin could make out the words clearly. In a more conversational tone, he continued, “It’s a good look on you.”

Martin could feel his face heating up, knew with absolute certainty that he was flushed red to the tips of his ears. “O-oh! Um, I, uh, th-thank you.”

Tim just kept grinning at him. “You’re welcome. But nah, that wasn’t what I meant. I was talking about the whole doing this again thing. It was a lot of fun going out with you and Sasha.”

“I had a lot of fun, too,” Martin admitted like he was giving away a precious secret. “I—thank you. For inviting me. I’m… I’m really glad you did.”

“I am, too,” Tim said, some of the energy falling away but no less kind. He looked back out towards the street and Martin heard him take in a long, relaxed breath that Martin found himself trying to match. They stayed like that for a bit, Tim with his arm slung around Martin and leaning on him, just basking in the quiet comfort of each other’s company.

Martin knew that the next time he sat down to scribble out a poem, it would be about this night, about this moment and all of the ones leading up to it. If they got close enough and Martin had enough alcohol in him, then maybe, just _maybe,_ he’d show it to Tim and Sasha.

Was it wishful thinking? Yeah, outrageously so. Didn’t mean that Martin didn’t kind of love it, though.

They stood like that for a bit, maybe only a few seconds, before Tim shifted, taking his arm off of Martin and stepping back. Tim let out a sigh. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I’m just about dead on my feet. Don’t stay up too late going to any crazy parties without me.”

Martin snorted at that. Right, like he had some mysterious acquaintance to invite him to, to crazy parties or nights out on the town. “I won’t. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Tim said. “Shoot me and Sasha a text when you get back to your flat, yeah? Just to let us know that you got home alright.”

Martin felt something in his chest flutter anew, just as wonderful as Sasha’s hug and as brilliant as Tim’s casual contact. He almost choked on it, this thing that wrapped his heart in sun-warmed velvet, all cozy and kind and lovely. Still, he managed to nod at Tim and keep his voice steady. “Yeah. I will. Um. A-and you too, right?”

Tim’s head fell to one side, the action so painfully similar to that of a perplexed puppy that Martin had to stifle another burst of giggles.

“I just mean, uh, you’ll text when you get back safe too, right?” Martin elaborated. “Since we’re, you know, friends and all?”

And god, what a dumb thing to add. The first half of that would have been _fine,_ maybe a little pushy, but tolerable. But no, Martin had made it weird after a fun night. Sure, Tim would probably just shrug it off but Martin wanted just _one_ interaction where he could act like a normal, decent person who had friends and wasn’t desperate for any human connection.

But Tim didn’t shrug it off, didn’t give Martin a weird look. He just _grinned,_ his expression so radiant that Martin would have sworn that the sun shone from behind his lips.

“You got it, Marto,” Tim said, still grinning as he shot finger guns at Martin. “See you around.”

And then he was giving Martin one last wave as he started walking down the street and back home, wherever that might have been. Martin couldn’t remember where home was for Tim, or if Tim had ever actually told him. But that was fine. Martin could always ask some other time.

They were friends now, after all.

* * *

Martin couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home.

He made it back to his flat in Stockwell with no trouble, though one or two people on the Tube had given him weird looks because Martin was still smiling to himself like a loon. He didn’t really care, though. He had a friend. Likely _two_ friends.

Martin unlocked his door and flicked the lights on as he stepped inside his flat, closing and locking the door behind him. He made his way to the kitchen and made a glass of water. He downed it before turning on the tap again and making another one—hydration was important after drinking alcohol, or so Martin had read. He had gotten drunk on his own a few times before, downing cheap wine on particularly miserable nights, and had always made it a point to drink a good amount of water, too. And, well, Martin had yet to have a hangover, so he must have been doing _something_ right.

He shuffled over to sit on his couch and took out his phone. He turned on the screen and then immediately began blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, even rubbing a hand over them for good measure.

Nothing changed. His phone still proclaimed that he had eight new messages from a group chat that was apparently called “Sexy Assistants Club.”

Martin unlocked his phone and went straight to his messages.

Sexy Assistants Club  
  
Sasha James  
Hi Tim! Hi Martin! I made it home just fine 💚  
Tim Stoker  
incredibly sexy of us both to make it back alright  
actually  
there we go, more accurate chat name  
Sasha James  
Tim you are insufferable  
Tim Stoker  
uwu  
Sasha James  
Martin is my new best friend now  
Tim Stoker  
yknow what that’s fair

Martin just stared at his phone, reading over the texts again and again. He hadn’t expected… something like this. This seemed like an actual group chat, like something that the three of them would keep up beyond just these cursory text messages. Like they would be having conversations outside of work, just for the sake of talking to each other.

Even if they were happy tears, Martin _refused_ to cry over this.

Sexy Assistants Club  
  
hi!!! i made it home okay, too  
Tim Stoker  
marto!!!!  
we are three for three bbie!!! i say we celebraet  
*celebrate  
Sasha James  
You would, wouldn’t you  
Glad you’re doing well Martin  
same to you and tim!!  
i’m probably gonna go to bed soon? I’m kinda tired  
but i had a lot of fun tonight!! thank you  
Sasha James  
Of course! I’m looking forward to next week  
Sleep well  
Tim Stoker  
sweet dreams marto

Martin closed out of his phone and held it to his chest like a swooning Victorian maiden, his heart beating so loudly that he could hear it in his ears. He wasn’t even _nervous,_ not really. He just—he was—

He was so _happy._

And sure, things weren’t perfect. Martin wasn’t—he knew that all of his issues and problems were still there, that they were real and present in a way that even two (two!) new friends wouldn’t be able to fix.

But it was nice to have them. For them to want him around.

For them to care about him, even if just a little bit.

Martin was looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please be sure to bookmark, leave kudos, and comment!
> 
> Also shoutout to those of you who can tell exactly what inspired the moon story.


End file.
